


Fright Night

by Nellblazer



Category: Constantine (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Hellblazer
Genre: Awkward Dates, British English, British Slang, Carnival, F/M, Flirting, Folklore, Fun fair, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Occult, POV John Constantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellblazer/pseuds/Nellblazer
Summary: You take Constantine to the local Halloween funfair to unwind but the world of the supernatural never has downtime*Please do not replicate my work without my express permission*





	Fright Night

**Author's Note:**

> One Shot Warnings: Violence, swearing
> 
> For @stanclub‘s 3K Follower Spooky Challenge! Congrats on the followers <3
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)

“This is ridiculous,” John groans as you pull him through the barrier towards the funfair.

“Stop being such a negative Nancy and get over here,” you roll your eyes. “Can we just do something fun for once?”

“Lass, I’m always on the job. I don’t get _fun_ days. I don’t get days to doss around on sofas. Evil never sleeps.”

“You know you sound like a pretentious arsehole when you say that, right?” you snort. “The whole mysterious bloke vibe really doesn’t suit you.”

“Only because you live with me,” he shoves you gently. “You see behind the curtain and the fact I like fluffy dressing gowns which, by the way, I’ll curse you if you ever tell anyone about. I’ll make all your knickers disappear.”

“Wouldn’t dream of telling anyone,” you bat your eyelashes in a way that said you didn’t really mean it.

“You are so much trouble sometimes, luv,” he sighs but not in a dismissive way. He genuinely did love the mischief you brought into his life.

“I thought that’s why you liked me?” you shrug before disappearing off towards the Waltzer. “Keep up old man!”

“Old?!” John cries. “Oh you’re so in for it now! Come back here!”

But you’d already thrown yourself into a seat and the second he sat down next to you, the lap bar descended and the ride started. He was slammed next to you, clinging on for dear life as he was spun around, up and down whilst neon lights and old pipe organ music blared around him. Amidst that all you were laughing, laughing so hard you even did an unladylike snort that told him you were unguardedly enjoying this.

These were the times he liked you best, when you didn’t care about impressing him or keeping a facade. You were the only person who had such a beautiful soul at their core that John kept coming back to.

I mean, fuck, you were the first girl he’d never even had thoughts about leaving or straying from and as a wanderer like him, that was unheard of. Even Chas had been incredibly surprised how long you’d been around, teasing him about wedding bells on the horizon.

_That wouldn’t be so bad actually_, he thinks whilst looking at your hair whipping unattractively over your face but you don’t care. _Waking up every morning to her, that way she always drapes herself on you to cuddle, the fantastic shagging, the insult wars….who the fuck are you kidding Johnny Boy? You’ve fallen and fallen hard for her._

Then the ride is over and you’re helping him out of the seat as he almost falls over from dizziness.

“Caught you,” you wink, pulling him to you.

“That you did, lass,” he grins. “Aren’t you such a lucky bugger?”

“Debatable,” you drop him to the floor where he laughs.

“So what next on your horrible torture tour?”

“Well we have to lose money on a rigged game, get candyfloss that sticks to our fingers and then go in the hall of mirrors and haunted house.”

“A haunted house?” John gets up, eyebrow raised. “What? Is my life not exciting enough for you, luv? Getting chased by a banshee last week is too bog standard?”

“Oh shut up,” you put your hand over his face, shushing him. “It’s meant to be naff, just enjoy the cheesiness for once.”

“Alright,” he puts his arm around you. “But I’m choosing the game we play.”

“And what is that going to be?”

“Not the gun range, I’m a shit shot. The hook a duck one is just bollocks. How about the ring toss? I’m good at that.”

“Is that because you’re a tosser?” you smile sweetly.

“I could easily go off you, you know,” he pouts.

“But you won’t,” you shrug. “It’s all empty threats.”

“But this isn’t,” he grabs you by the waist, holding your cheek and leaning in until his lips were mere millimetres away from yours. “If you keep giving me lip all night, I’ll make sure I get you right to the edge of cumming and then stop, over and over.”

Your eyes widen, “You wouldn’t!”

“I bloody would,” he grins. “Might even do it just on principle now.”

“You’re horrid!”

“That’s not very nice, lass,” he laughs. “I’ll finish you off eventually. Not so gobby now, are we?”

“Just play the damn game,” you sulk but it’s in that childish adorable way.

He kisses your cheek, leading you over to the stall before paying and lining up his throw.

“Watch this,” he winks before flicking his wrist.

He misses spectacularly, skipping the plastic ring across the bottle tops where it clinks until it hits the back wall. He blushes a little, embarrassed before coughing and going again. This time he manages to neatly hook the ring over the bottle straight in the centre.

“That was a good save,” you wrap your hands around his waist from behind and kiss his neck.

It drove him crazy when you did that and if he could, he’d sit you on the stall stand and drop down to his knees, part your legs and work the magic that made you scream. The magic that made you dig your fingernails into his scalp and pull at his hair whilst all sorts of filthy language tumbled from your mouth.

“Hellooooo?” you snap your fingers in front of his face which snaps him out of his daydream. “Pick a prize, idiot.”

“Right,” he blinks, feeling the uncomfortable stretch in his trousers. “Give us the giant cuddly wolf then.”

The plushy wolf is passed over to you and you tuck it under your arm proudly and John feels that stirring of male ego that he was able to provide something for you. Maybe the idea to come here wasn’t so bad.

He sparks up a cigarette, taking a long drag whilst looking around at the tacky Halloween decorations on every stand, ride and banner. He’d never liked this holiday much because it always meant some complete fuckwit would try summoning something paranormal.

Really it was the busiest time of the year for him.

“Get out of your head, John Constantine,” you roll your eyes. “You’re overthinking this. It’s just meant to be a fun night out.”

“Hall of mirrors right?” he points. “Come on then, let’s see what I’d look like if I kept eating your cooking all the time.”

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying it’s right good. I’ve not been this well fed in decades,” he laughs, taking your hand and leading you over.

The hall was actually quite fun, both of you making stupid faces and laughing at how thin and big the mirrors made you. By the end of the path, John had a big smile plastered on his face.

“Haunted house next!” you run off.

“Hold up, lass!” John runs after you, feeling the smoke constricting his lungs and wishing he had the willpower to kick the habit.

When he got in there, there was a strange feeling. He’d been in enough creepy places to get a sense for this sort of thing.

“Are you okay?” you give him a strange look, your face half hidden in shadow in the semi-darkness.

“Just mystic senses going off,” he says quietly, looking around himself.

“It’s just a fake haunted house,” you step forward, reassuring him. “Not everything is actually spooky.”

“Bore off lass, I know,” he shakes his head. “Just feels not right.”

“We can go?”

“Nah. I can’t leave this. I’ve gotta explore this place,” John forges ahead. “You know I don’t let things lie, luv.”

“Okay, should I be worried?” he sees you reach for your rucksack and get the pack of sage you carry around.

“Not sure yet. Keep your guard up.”

He moved through the first level, jumping and swearing loudly as a papermaché ghost dropped down in front of him. Flashing mirrors that revealed snarling faces and loud cackles broke up the tense silence and you’d never seen John this on edge.

All of the creepy ambience and the jumpscares were just making him paranoid and he almost took out a young teen couple who were sneaking around the corner.

“Fucking hell, the more I go into this thing the worse the feeling gets,” he clutches his chest. “It’s suffocating.”

He knew you couldn’t feel it. You weren’t attune to the demonic and supernatural like he was but there was something in your stature that he could see you had the fight or flight response ready, like you were aware something was off yourself but you didn’t know what.

“It’ll be alright. If there’s something here we’ll get rid of it.”

“But with all these people here, it’s gonna be hard to deal with.”

“Is there like a fire alarm to get them out?” you feel along the wall.

“I don’t know. Be careful, luv.”

There’s a scream from somewhere in the house that sounds too real to be piped through speakers and John turns for just a second in that direction before looking back and seeing you were nowhere in sight.

“Lass? LASS?!” he shouts, blindly searching as the lights drop out completely. “LASS!”

His hands are running over textures that he has no clue what they are. He’s just desperate to find you again.

“JOHN!” he hears you from right above him and he wastes no time in tearing in a random direction trying to find the stairs.

He tripped often, staggering into things and knocking his head against low beams, doorways and dangling props but he didn’t give up.

“Fuck this nonsense,” he snarls, conjuring fire which illuminates the dingy corridors.

Panic made him stupid and he was making basic mistakes.

“Lass!” he calls out again, barging through a few plywood doors until he eventually came across the stairs, taking them two at a time onto the upper level.

There was the sound of you screaming in pain and he raced towards it before he heard a guttural growl and a shriek as something blasted past him, thrown out of a room to his left.

“John!”

You were on the floor of the room, bleeding from the torso as your top was ripped to shreds, the remnants of your stuffed wolf thrown across the floor Beside you was a dead boy, probably only old enough to just start drinking that had been torn apart at the chest.

Shit.

“What is it?!” he looks around himself.

“Strigoi!”

“Bollocks,” John mutters.

I mean, he didn’t have any pig fat left from the last St. Ignatius’ day, nor did he have any iron nails. Maybe he should have stolen garlic cloves from the hot dog seller but too late now.

“Luv, why did it fall back?” he holds the fireball higher to see more around him.

“Garlic bread earlier,” you grunt through the pain, applying pressure to the score marks on your skin. “Didn’t like the taste of me.”

“Well that’s summat at least,” he mumbles.

He was now only left with one option. Tear out the heart and split it in half. Problem was, you’d made him leave most of his gear at home and he only had the sliver of silver in his coat lining as insurance. He’d have to improvise.

He looked at the ‘ghost’ jutting out on hydraulics in the corridor and grabbed it, yanking and yanking to try and get it free.

“Whatever you’re doing, do it fast,” you groan. “I can’t get up.”

“Going as fast as I caaaaaaaan,” he says in a mock sing song voice. “You’re not helpinnnnnng.”

Then he heard the snarl to his left and looked up to see the blue mottled skin, the elongated face and the rows of jutting fangs. The sunken eyes were just staring at him, sizing him up.

“Oh bloody fucking great,” he swears, knowing he’s trapped in the narrow corridor.

He throws his whole bodyweight into tearing the ghost from the wall and eventually it gives way, breaking with a snap to leave him with the prop and the metal bar it was placed upon. It had splintered in such a way that it left him with a blade edge which was exactly what he was going for.

Somebody upstairs loved him today.

The strigoi is upon him now and John slashes, managing to catch it on the pointed ears, slicing the tip off. It howls in pain before retreating and then disappears into the shadows.

“Did you get it?” you ask, unable to see from your vantage point.

“Nah, winged it,” John moves back into the room with you. “It’s scared for now but it’ll be back.”

“We have to get everyone out of here,” you try to stand up but bending makes this strangled hissing noise come out of your mouth. “It’ll just go after an easier target.”

“I don’t know how,” John admits. “If we tell everyone to go that’ll bring more attention to this place and kids might sneak in. I’ve got to go hunt it. That’s the only way.”

“Okay. Go get it.”

John always marvelled at how devil may care you were with your own life sometimes. It was frightening in a way. Normally birds would grab him, tell him not to leave, cry that they were afraid or too injured to go with him.

Not you.

You knew he had to end this and you’d just hold him back right now.

“Stop gawping and go,” you slap him lightly on the cheek.

“Right, sorry,” he shakes his head. “Stay safe, luv. Scream if you need me.”

“It won’t come after me again if my blood is 'tainted’,” you say defiantly. “I’ll just hide in the corner so no one comes in to try and help me.”

“Give us a kiss before I go, in case_ I_ die,” John smirks.

“You have the worst timing,” you laugh, though the pain cuts it short and you indulge him before he runs off back into the corridor.

This time he sets a series of lights to hover over his head, casting light even into the most dark recesses. He was taking no chances.

After hearing a blood curdling shriek from downstairs, he races back down, haring along the winding path until he finds the source.

Fortunately it’s just some big titted bimbo who’d gotten scared by the spider that dropped from the ceiling. She seemed surprised to see John there and turned to her boyfriend but John had already moved on, keen not to have to answer strange questions about why he had floating orbs above him.

He’s moving through, pausing at every noise, metal shard bared as he finds his way towards another staircase leading to the opposite side of the house. He ascends with trepidation, shoes making such a racket in the silence until he crests the landing and sees coffins lined up.

“Oh fuck no,” he sighs, knowing what’s going to come.

John’s never liked jumpscares and this seemed like a room he was going to hate.

He walks past the first coffin, waiting with baited breath for something to spring out at him but it doesn’t. After walking past another two, he wonders whether he’s giving this place too much credit and making up horror for himself.

As he passes the last one, however, the door explodes in his face, throwing him onto the floor as the strigoi bursts forth, leaping on him and trying to tear his shirt apart.

John manages to jab it in the ribs with the shard and it rears back, spitting at him, your blood spraying upon his face. In an instant, it’s gone again and John’s scrambling to his feet.

“I’m never going to a bloody fun fair again,” he mutters to himself as he chases in the direction he thinks it went.

After minutes of finding nothing, he’s becoming frustrated.

“JOHN!”

Your voice bounces around the corridors and he knows this section of the house is walled off from your side so he does the only logical thing he can, he starts kicking at the dividing wall. He knows it’s cheap wood and it starts splintering the second his foot makes contact.

“I’m coming!” he shouts, shoulder barging the weak point and he falls through in a shower of splinters.

Then he’s almost speed crawling towards the room you’re in until his legs lift him up and he sprints, desperately regretting smoking before coming in here.

When he rounds the corner, the strigoi has you by the neck, one taloned finger resting on your carotid artery in warning. John stops immediately.

“Looks like it’s smarter than we thought,” John says to you. “Must have been undead for a long while.”

The strigoi nods, grinning to reveal bloody teeth, bits of flesh stuck in between them.

“How about you let me missus go and I won’t shove this bit of metal up your jacksy?” John tries to reason with it.

The strigoi responds by pulling your hair back so your neck is more exposed. One false move here and you were dead. John could heal a lot of wounds but he’d never raise people back from the grave. Once you were gone, you were gone.

“Alright, alright. I’m putting it down,” John drops the shard, kicking it towards the creature and holding his hands up. “Now let her go.”

The talon doesn’t drop.

“And we’ll leave immediately,” John adds.

Finally the strigoi steps back, allowing you to go but you stumble, falling onto your knees.

“Come 'ere, lass. Come to me and we’ll get out of here,” John urges you on.

Instead, you grab the shard and whirl up, slamming it into the strigoi’s chest. John leaps forward, taking over and dragging the shard around the heart area, gouging the organ out as it tried to scratch and tear at him.

With one hard pull that was worthy of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, John had the heart in his hand and he kicked the strigoi over, dropping to the floor and using the shard to saw it in half.

After some feral growls, cries and hisses, the strigoi becomes engulfed by blue flames, melting the skin to nothing and the bones dissolve until only dust is left on the floor.

“It’s over?” you ask, panting hard against the wall.

“It’s over. The ol’ Johnny Rotten trick worked a treat,” he grins at you. “Nice one, luv.”

The Johnny Rotten, as you both called it, was a play to dupe supernatural creatures. The designated Johnny Rotten would make a lot of noise, pretend to be highly inept, all while the other person used the distraction to kill whatever it was you were chasing.

“I thought we’d have to switch to the Robert Smith for a minute there,” you laugh. “Any chance you can heal me? This stings a lot.”

“It’s gonna scar, you know,” John rolls up his sleeves and chants with his hands over your wounds.

“What’s new?” you shrug. “At this point I’ll have more slash lines than a Jackson Pollock painting.”

“Not that I care,” John taps you on the nose now he’s done. “You’re always stunning. Although Jackson Pollock _does_ give me an idea for bedroom activity.”

“Jesus Christ, not now,” you roll your eyes. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Alright, lass. Time to go home.”

He helps you, the shock still making your legs a bit wobbly, until you manage to exit the haunted house and straight into a man who seemed both angry and bewildered.

“You’re alive?!” he blurts out, his accent Eastern European.

“Wait a minute,” you point at him. “You knew that thing was in there?!”

“I…I…” the man babbles.

John sees red and grabs him by the shirt, slamming him against the side of the house, “You knew, didn’t you? You little shit! What, were you feeding it in there or summat?!”

“I had to!” the man protests, struggling in John’s grip. “It’s been part of the funfair for years. My father first struck a deal with it when it killed everyone in the village. If we took it around the world, we would bring it victims and it would leave us alone.”

“How did it even get in the house?” you ask.

“It was a lonely boy, a sad boy. Just been rejected by his love and he hung himself in the haunted house so nobody would get frightened. They’d think he was part of the show. We didn’t find him for three days. That’s when the smell started but by then, it was too late.”

“Well, it’s properly dead now,” John lets go.

“We’re free?!” the man smiles in relief. “It’s gone?!”

“Aye but this is for all the people you’ve ever sent to their deaths,” John draws back his hand, punching the man hard before walking back to you. “And me missus wants a replacement stuffed wolf since hers got trashed.”

“Of course,” the man gingerly touches his eye before running off.

“The toy isn’t important,” you raise an eyebrow.

“'Course it is. I won it for you,” John brushes your wild hair back. “It’s evidence I’m good at summat.”

“You’re good at _this_,” you gesture to the house. “I don’t need to be any more impressed.”

“Come off it,” he pouts. “Just take the bloody stuffed animal before me ego gets bruised.”

“Alright,” you chuckle.

The man returns with another wolf and more thanks, throwing buckets of candy floss into your hands and bags of sweets before you start making your way back to the turnstile gate just as he hangs a 'Closed’ sign over the house entrance.

“Sooooo, can I say I told you so?” John winks at you as you get back in the car. “Summat _always _happens around Halloween.”

“Yeah yeah,” you flick him on the arm. “Can never take you anywhere nice.”

“How about dinner sometime?” he leans back against the head rest, eyeing you up. “Somewhere right fancy, just us. No interruptions.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I’ll make sure it is,” he nods.

“You’re on,” you smile back.

John starts the car before driving back home.

Something about the experience of running into danger when he wasn’t expecting it and seeing you that injured made him assess his life choices. He needed to stop being so scared of committing to things. You were a tough bird after all and life was short in his world.

_Dinner is good and it’ll be even better when I’ve found a suitable ring._


End file.
